Page 48 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Chapter eighteen

Adrian

The aroma of roasted chicken mingles with the laughter bubbling from the dining room. I sit at the head of the table, a king in a castle not my own, trying to navigate the domestic bliss of the King household. The table is an eclectic display of mismatched china and crystal glasses that somehow works, just like the family gathered around it.

“Isn’t Caleb just the sweetest?” Isabella’s mother coos, her eyes sparkling as she watches my son shovel brown rice into his mouth with the focus of a surgeon. She’s not wrong, but her gushing is enough to make any eight-year-old squirm.

“Careful,” Macie, my mother, drawls from beside me, “or I’ll start charging you for compliments.” Her eyes dance with mischief as she sips her wine, a perfect grandmother wrapped in a shawl of sarcasm.

Isabella’s mom throws back her head, laughing. “Oh, I wish I had a dozen grandsons just like him!”

“Trust me, one is plenty,” I quip, earning an eye roll from Caleb, who’s oblivious to the fact that he’s the center of a mild tug-of-war.

“Adrian here thinks marriage and more kids are off the table,” Mom chimes in, a hint of regret lacing her voice.

I roll my eyes. “Mom, not now–”

Then Mr. King leans back in his chair, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Don’t take him so seriously, Macie. Your husband was the same, you know. Marriage, kids—it was all on the ‘do not fly’ list.” He chuckles, his gaze flickering to Macie. “Then he met Macie. Stubborn, beautiful, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

My mother smirks at this. “I was quite the firecracker back in my day.”

Mrs. King winks at her. “Still are, Macie.”

“Despite his best efforts,” Mr. King continues, “He couldn’t shake her. He knew his fate was sealed the moment they met.”

I can’t help but sneak a glance at Isabella. Our smiles collide, two stars on a collision course, until she abruptly looks away.

What’s that about? Unless ... she doesn’t like the idea of our fate being sealed. Not together, at least.

Mrs. King, with a glint of mischief in her eyes that rivals her husband’s, leans forward, as if the next words are the secret to eternal youth. “Thomas sounds an awful lot like our Isabella. Always planning for tomorrow. But perhaps she’ll have a change of heart about starting a family sooner rather than later.”

I catch Isabella’s eye across the table, and we share a silent nod. It’s time. The air thickens with anticipation as I clear my throat. “Actually, there’s something we need to tell you all,” I start, my voice more steady than I feel.

Isabella picks up where I leave off, her fingers lightly trembling on the edge of the table. “We’re having a baby.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Then, like clockwork, Mr. King, his eyebrows doing a high-wire act above his glasses, asks, “You’re having a baby? Witheach other?”

“Yep, with each other,” I confirm, feeling my chest tighten a little less.

Caleb, who’s been shoveling chicken into his mouth as if he’s got a personal vendetta against it, drops his fork. “I’m gonna be a big brother?” His voice is laced with so much excitement it could power a small city.

“Absolutely, buddy.” I can’t help but grin as I watch his face light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You’re going to be the best big brother ever.”

“Is it a boy or a girl? When’s it coming? Can I teach it to play soccer?” Caleb fires off questions faster than a speeding bullet, and I wonder if we’ve just unleashed a mini interroga—Nope, enthusiastic future big brother.

“Whoa, one question at a time, champ,” I say, trying to keep up.

“Go on, sport,” Mom intervenes, sensing the adults need their own time to process. “Why don’t you head upstairs and play for a bit? You can think up all your questions, and we’ll answer every single one later.”

“We set up a playroom for you,” Mrs. King adds. “Filled with all of Isabella’s old toys. Plus some new ones I picked out this morning. Upstairs in the first room on the right.”

“Okay!” Caleb agrees with an energy that suggests he’s about to launch from his chair and straight through the ceiling. He scurries off, leaving us in a suddenly too-quiet room.

The mood shifts, like the clouds covering the sun on a perfect beach day. Mr. King is the first to speak. “So, how is this going to work?”

“Look, we’re figuring things out,” I say, maybe a bit too defensively. “But Isabella and I plan to raise the baby as civil co-parents. No fighting, no drama.”

“Co-parents?” My mom questions. “As in, you won’t be together?”

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